And The Ocean As Deep As My Love
by LondonFan
Summary: Let'sWriteSherlock Challenge 02 (re-writing a fairy tale). Johnlock. Merlock. Sherlock is one of the most admired merman under the sea, in the Baker Kingdom with his outstanding violin playing. When he meets a young human by coincidence one evening, his whole world turns around and he desperately wants to see him again. But for that he needs legs - in exchange for his violin.


**This is a fill for the second Let's Write Sherlock Challenge, in which one was supposed to re-write a fairy tale. I chose the Little Mermaid, basing it loosely on both the Disney film and the original. This is Johnlock and mer!lock, so if it's not your cup of tea, don't read.**

**Beta'd and edited by the wonderful an-exercise-in-futility, whose nickname on here I still have to find out. **

**Thanks for reading!  
**

**And I'd love to hear your opinion.**

* * *

**And The Ocean As Deep As My Love**

Far out in the ocean, the water is as blue as the sky on a bright summer's day, as blue as a cornflower's petal when it shines in full bloom, and as clear as the purest glass one will ever find, very much like the glass used at court. It glitters warmly when it reflects the warm rays of the sun, and appears peaceful and calm.

But it is very deep.

In some places, it sinks deeper than any anchor can go—deeper than even the heaviest of steel attached to the largest, most majestic of vessels can fathom reaching. Mankind has not been able to determine the true depths of the sea but one thing is for sure – it would take ages to reach the bottom, and it is there where the sea folk dwell.

The sea folk look just like human beings but if one possesses the good fortune to peer closer, which happens rarely because they live very secluded lives, one can spot the differences—so tiny yet so important. Their eyes shine brighter than those of man and they consist of many a colour. There is no plain blue or green. No indeed! Every eye is something special, a mixture of thousands and thousands of colours.

Their skin is smoother than that of a human, too, silky and pale and tender. The hair of the sea folk is long and thick—soft to the touch. It never needs combed, the gentle stir and movement of the water is enough to foster it. Their voices are angelic, both when they sing and speak—bright and clear, and if they talk it's as if bells are ringing. The deeper they are, the more the water above them muffles the sound, and to human ears, their talking sounds just like the clashing of waves when they meet the shore.

The most significant difference, though, is their fish tail. The sea folk possess no legs—their lower bodies one long tail with two fins at the end with which they can swim and even walk short distances on the sandy bottom of the sea. Therefore, they are often mistaken for fish when they happen to be too close to the surface and find themselves spotted.

The sea folk live in a large kingdom on the ocean's floor, a kingdom surrounded by the most marvelous trees and flowers. All sorts of fish dart among those plants, similar to birds that fly in the air. From the deepest spot in the ocean, positioned precisely in the middle of Baker Kingdom, rises the palace of the sea king. Its walls are made of coral and its roof is made of shells that glitter brightly when the sun's rays break through the ocean surface and meet the palace of King Mycroft. It is a wonderful sight to see and if a human were to catch sight, his mouth would forever be agape in the light of the beauty of the kingdom.

The sea king Mycroft had been a widower for years, and had yet to recover from the death of his beloved wife. He drowned his sorrow in eating cake, day in, day out, so that his old mother kept house for him. She was a clever woman but disappointed in her eldest son, so she placed all hope into her youngest child.

He was the most beautiful of the mermen that lived in the palace. His skin was softer than the skin of others, and his eyes were of such an indistinct colour that it seemed as if they changed their appearance according to the light. Like all others he had no feet but his fish tail was shining brighter, his scales were more colourful than one had ever seen. His high cheekbones emphasised his pale skin and piercing eyes, his head was framed with black, soft curls that flowed up and down with the water's movement. His name was just like him – exotic and intriguing. He was called Sherlock.

He was an unusual child, quiet and reclusive, yet his mind and his intelligence were most remarkable. The young merman was very curious, too, and he took in everything he could— everything there was to learn. He experimented and examined everything there was to be found in Baker Kingdom, and it seemed like his head was never full and always hungry for new information.

Nothing gave Sherlock such pleasure, however, as to hear about the world of the human beings up above them. He kept something with him that he took great care of and had found it on the bottom of the sea floor, apparently fallen from a ship. He had looked at it intently and found that it produced sounds when one picked at the strings that were taut over its wooden carcass. Sherlock had no name for it, and chose to call it _bow-to-sound-thing_.

Mycroft had to tell him everything he knew about ships, and places, and people, and plants, and animals, and objects like the _bow-to-sound-thing _(a "violin", Mycroft had told him) – whenever he wasn't busy eating cake. Mycroft used to spend most of his time at the surface before he had gotten married, learning just like Sherlock, and he loved to share his knowledge with his brother.

"When you are grown up," Mycroft said, "you will be allowed to rise up out of the ocean and learn about the human world, just like me."

But this promise stayed unfulfilled for Mycroft never told Sherlock when exactly he was grown up. If it weren't for their mother, he would have swum up to the surface already but he didn't want to worry her any more. However, this didn't keep Sherlock from swimming out of the palace at night, and looking up to the surface longingly, watching the blurry forms of ships passing by, or the dim light of the stars.

* * *

Once Sherlock had turned eighteen, his quiet life filled with experiments and reading books was over. It was custom of Baker Kingdom that every prince chose a profession at eighteen and travel the kingdom to get to know more about both it and its inhabitants.

It turned out that Sherlock was very talented with the _violin_, after Mycroft had found him a suitable bow to play it with. The wood never moulded, and the strings never broke. Sherlock elicited the most beautiful sounds and melodies from that instrument, his fingers merely hovering over the strings, dancing over the fretboard with unprecedented elegance.

He traveled the kingdom, to cities far and near, and played for the sea folk who lived there. They admired his music, and they admired him, and Sherlock soon became the most famous merman in all of Baker Kingdom.

Thanks to his travels, he could stop for a bite by a travelling inn, and he started talking to people. If they were cold, he looked at them and could tell their whole life story with just a glance at them. He really was remarkably intelligent and observant. After such a deduction, and maybe after one or two songs, even the most secluded ones were willing to talk and, oh, how much Sherlock learned about the human world!

The more he heard, the more his patience decreased and the young prince couldn't wait to see gold glowing heavens, green hills and trees, animals, people, and breathe the air over the sea.

And then the day came when Sherlock couldn't hold himself back anymore. The idea of swimming up to the surface, breaching it, and finally seeing what everyone was raving about, became too tempting for him. One night, he silently left his bedchamber and the palace, not looking back once. The sea was as dark as the night sky in his brother's tales but Sherlock found his way quickly. He never took a wrong turn, just kept swimming and swimming, the glowing of the palace disappearing beneath him with every mile he swam.

When the surface was so, so close, Sherlock spread out his arms next to his face to quicken up his speed and reach his goal faster.

Finally, his head breached the water and he smelled air, and flowers, and water, and so much more than he had ever imagined.

The stars were shining down upon him, and Sherlock wished he could fly to explore the sky, but he was content with being on the surface for now. He gently flapped with his fins and swam closer to the shore, carefully looking around. He didn't want to be seen by anybody although it was highly unlikely that there was a human out on the beach at this time of night.

Sherlock stayed in this position for another while, then sighed happily, and retreated back under the surface, swimming back to his palace. He had seen the human world – and he already knew he couldn't get enough of it.

* * *

Sherlock came back to the surface every night after his first experience with the world up above him, and he looked and examined and learned. After a fortnight, he got braver, and emerged from the water just as the sun went down. The sky was tinged in a warm red and the water glimmered in the last rays of sunshine.

Sherlock swam closer to the shore. He was alone again so he eventually left the water, with only his fins in the waves, and his upper body on the soft sand. It was a nice feeling, and it was both new and exciting to feel the texture of the beach on his skin. Sherlock closed his eyes and breathed the air into his lungs that were made for living underwater, yet they worked just fine when he was outside. After a while he blinked once, twice and then sat up. The sun was now just a mere line on the horizon and Sherlock picked up his violin he had taken with him. He began to play a soft tune until the ball of fire had disappeared completely and welcomed the night with a melody so melancholic and sweet that no creature would have been able to think ill of it.

"That was brilliant," a voice suddenly whispered behind him, and Sherlock jumped and turned around to see a human being behind him who was smiling with a dazed look on his face. Sherlock didn't hesitate long and jumped back into the sea as quickly as possible, never turning back and never emerging from the water again. He was relieved when he lay in his bed at home in the palace, safe and sound, and he cursed himself inwardly for being stupid enough to let a human see him.

And yet…

The man, for it clearly had been a male human, wasn't afraid of him, and he hadn't been surprised – just happy. His violin playing had apparently caught the attention and the admiration of the blond man who was shorter than the other human beings Mycroft had told him about. Sherlock knew he should be afraid and hiding from mankind, yet there had been something special about the young man. His appearance… his eyes, of such a deep, deep blue, just like the blue when the sea was troubled during a storm. His mouth so thin and yet so friendly and open. His hands so small and strong at the same time. His posture confident and brave.

_He was interesting_, Sherlock decided. _Very interesting indeed_.

* * *

It wasn't until Sherlock had reappeared at the surface twice after the incident that he saw the human being again. Sherlock brought his violin again and was just about to swim to the shore when something else caught his eye. It was a little boat, not far from where Sherlock had emerged from the water, and in it were two men. One of them was the human that had complimented the merman on his violin playing some time ago, the other one was taller and rounder and barking with laughter.

Although the distance between the boat and Sherlock wasn't too large, he couldn't hear what they were saying. The clash of the waves and the screaming of the gulls nearby made it impossible to hear what they talked about.

However, Sherlock did notice a change in their conversation. Suddenly, "his" human being stood up, flourishing his hands in what could only be an angry manner. The other man stood, too, now, and the boat wavered a bit. The two men shouted at one another, and there was suddenly a loud bang, a cry, and then the taller man rowed back to the shore quickly.

Sherlock's human wasn't in the boat anymore.

The young merman submerged immediately, swimming to the place where he had seen the vessel before and there the human was, sinking lower and lower—red liquid leaking from a hole in his left shoulder. _Blood_, Sherlock remembered and realised that the human was hurt—that he would drown because only sea folk and fish could breathe underwater. He sped up and dived through the waves, riding their crests until he reached the human, pulled him into his arms and swam up to the surface with him.

The human's eyes were closed. They weren't blue now, Sherlock noted sadly, they were closed and pale, just like the rest of the body. His left shoulder was still bleeding. The bang Sherlock had heard probably was the reason for this injury. What had Mycroft called it? _Gunshot_?

He laid the young man down on the beach, in the exact same spot where he had been when they met those many nights ago, taking special care to pillow his head up high. Sherlock located some seaweed and made a tight bandage out of it. It wasn't great, certainly not, but it would help staunch the bleeding, at least for a little while. No, the human should not die! Sherlock knew, however, that he could do nothing but wait.

"Wake," he pleaded, "wake and live," and he bent down to kiss the man's forehead tenderly. He looked at the human's hair, sandy of colour yet so different from every grain on the beach. Sherlock lay down and picked up a bit of sand, holding it close to the man's head, marveling at the different colours and the softness of his hair. It was too dark, however, to see properly and Sherlock decided to conduct this experiment later, in daylight.

The night would last for at least three more hours, Sherlock knew, and he wanted to stay with the human. So he retrieved his violin, and played, all the time keeping an eye on the human who looked pale during the night and even paler when the sun ventured upwards.

When the first sea gull cried, the man opened his eyes and blinked in confusion. There was that deep blue again, the colour that Sherlock admired so much. This time, though, he didn't vanish into the sea—he stayed. He felt that the human needed company now, if only to explain what happened.

The man opened his mouth and closed it again, just like a fish. Then he said something in a rasped voice, coughed, and repeated it.

"Where am I?"

"On the shore," Sherlock answered, and the human looked at him with confusion.

"Who are you?"

"Sherlock," he answered, "a merman of the sea."

The human just stared at him, his torso, his tail, back to his face. "John. Very… very nice to meet you." He was so polite, politer than any of the sea folk. Sherlock felt obliged to explain why exactly the human was on the beach with him, and told him what he had seen. The man nodded, looked at his shoulder and sighed.

"I was shot," he explained, "and I think I need to get this wound cleaned." He tried to get up, but failed. "It just hurts so much." With a pained sigh he lay back down, accepting his fate that he would probably have to stay here forever.

Something in Sherlock's chest clenched at the sight of the human before him, and he whispered, "You mustn't give up, John." He tentatively touched the human's good shoulder, thinking frantically what he could do to ease his pain and then remembered. He took his violin again and played for John, a soothing melody that was said to have healing powers. It was a rumour under the sea folk, but maybe it was true. While Sherlock usually didn't believe in something like that, he wished it were true. Even if it was illogical.

John closed his eyes again, enjoying the tune. Sherlock didn't know how long they were on the shore, it could have been hours, it could have been seconds. Sherlock played and played, his fingers dancing quicker than ever, to make John feel better.

And maybe it was the song, perhaps it was coincidence, but John did feel better after a while, and he smiled—the blue of his eyes so warm and soft that Sherlock felt he could swim in them just like he could swim in the ocean, his home. Looking into John's eyes felt like returning home, and Sherlock found this to be a peculiar feeling.

As morning turned into day, bells of the churches close to the shore began to ring, and a number of people came running down to the beach, crying John's name. Sherlock quickly jumped back into the water but not without looking back at John once more. The human stared back, waving with his hand and whispering a "Thank-you". And if Sherlock was not mistaken, there stood an "I hope to see you again, mysterious creature of the sea" in his eyes.

Sherlock returned to Mycroft's palace and isolated himself even more from the others. Many evenings and many mornings he revisited the spot where he had seen John for the last time. He saw fruits growing close to the shore, he saw snow melting away, but he didn't see John anymore and became sadder every time he returned home.

Finally, he couldn't bear it any longer and told his secret to Mycroft. He was very considerate about it, not being mad at Sherlock for stealing away at night to go to the surface, nor for revealing himself to a human. As it turned out, he knew who that man was, and he knew where he lived. He had once known his father when he was younger and so he took Sherlock's hand and rose from the water with him to show his little brother where John lived and worked. Mycroft told him the human was often seen in a hospital where people were healed and Sherlock spent many a night and many an evening outside the hospital where it was connected to the shore and looked up through the windows and the shadows behind them. Whenever he saw John, his heart would beat a little faster.

On many nights, doctors came out to the sea to get some water and they talked about how nicely the young man was recovering and it made Sherlock proud that he was the one who made it possible for John to live. And he thought of how softly his hair had felt against his chest, and he thought of his deep, blue eyes. Increasingly, Sherlock's wish to walk on land and live among the humans and thus be able to see John again grew. The world seemed so much wider and better and more interesting with so many new things to explore. Sherlock's heart grew heavy whenever a month passed by, and he knew that one day he'd turn into sea foam, thus having an immortal soul, not like the humans, and would never be able to see John again.

It was obvious that Sherlock wanted to be with John, but it was also obvious that he needed legs for such an improbable feat. Yet he didn't know how to exchange his tail and fins for legs and feet. He didn't even know if that was possible.

"Mycroft," Sherlock asked his brother one day, "can't I do anything to walk with the humans and have an mortal soul like them?"

"No," his brother answered, "not unless a human being loved you so that his whole heart was yours—so that he would give you his hand in marriage and be with you for eternity and you joined him in his world. Then his soul would dwell in your body, and you would die with him and not turn into foam."

Sherlock's face lit up in a beaming smile but Mycroft's expression stayed as dark as the night. "This can never come to pass, Sherlock. The beauty of yours here in the sea is your fish tail, but you can't walk with it on land and you would be avoided for having it."

Sherlock's brow crinkled in a frown, and he let out a sigh that showed how sad he was. He looked unhappily at his fish tail, splashing with his fins, then turned around and swam to his room.

* * *

The next months were spent with celebrating Mycroft's birthday and all sea folk of the Baker Kingdom were invited for a ball that lasted four days and five nights, and the food was so delicious that it had to be refilled after just a day. Sherlock was supposed to play the music at the ball, and play he did. He did so well and marvelously that everyone danced and were affronted with a dreadful bout of gloom as he ceased playing. For a moment, Sherlock was happy because he knew that he had the most wonderful talent in the sea or on the land, but he could never forget John whom he still hadn't seen in over a year.

He stole out of the palace where everyone danced and sang gaily, and he sat down on a rock in the palace garden, thinking of John.

"He is up there," Sherlock thought, "he whom I love more than my parents and myself, he who occupies every corner of my head, and in whose hands I would willingly put my life."

It was true, Sherlock loved John with all his heart. He who had been someone who hated the idea of love, calling it a defect, his meeting John had turned his world upside down, and he still cherished the memory of his lips against John's forehead. "I shall visit the sea witch Irene," Sherlock said to himself, "whom I have heard so much about. Everyone is afraid of her, but I am not, and I know she will be able to help me with my problem."

So he set out from the garden toward the whirlpools that raged in front of where Irene dwelt. There were no flowers or seaweed, and no fish passed by. It was grey and bare place and Sherlock had to be careful not to fall into one of the whirlpools.

The memory of John made him strong and brave, and he swam on, until he reached the witch's house. White bones of men lay next to it for Irene was known for doing unspeakable things to her clients.

"I know exactly what you like," said the sea witch, "and I can assure you that it is a very foolish idea. But you shall have your wish fulfilled for it will bring you grief and unhappiness and this is what I want. You want to get rid of your tail and have to legs instead so you can walk like a human, and have that doctor fall in love with you." Irene laughed out loud, and Sherlock was terrified of her for a bit.

"Well, you are one lucky man," Irene said with a wicked smile. "I will be able to help you, and here is what you have to do. Swim to the shore with a draught I will brew you before the sun rises, and then drink it on the beach. Your tail will divide and shrink and it will become a pair of legs. But be aware that it will hurt, a sharp pain when you walk and sit, like a knife pushed into your legs. Are you willing to suffer this?"

"Yes," replied Sherlock with a steady voice, ready to do anything for John.

"But remember," Irene continued, "that you will never be a merman again once you have taken human form should you fail to captivate him. Either you win the doctor's love and marry him, or your heart will break on the next morning and you with it—forced to become sea foam."

"I shall take that risk," said Sherlock, now paler than ever before.

"Also, you will have to pay me." Irene laughed again, circling Sherlock with a piercing glance. "It is not a trifle matter, I assure you. You have the most wonderful talent of playing the violin and I don't doubt you would captivate the doctor with it. You must give this talent to me, and I will compose the best potion I have."

"But if you take my violin," said Sherlock, "what will be left to me?"

"Your doctor," Irene said, her eyes glinting dangerously. "Whom you can captivate with your legs, your voice, your eyes."

Sherlock had no option but to agree, and the witch cast a spell on him so that his fingers became numb and stiff and he couldn't even pick up a simple shell anymore. Irene brewed the potion and handed it to him, and Sherlock quickly made his way back home where he was asked to play again but denied. He already missed his violin that he found destroyed in his room. Apparently Irene had cast a spell on it as well.

But this was for John. And he would do anything for John.

* * *

The sun had not yet risen when Sherlock emerged from the water and swam to the beach. He sat there for a while; staring at the water and feeling his heart grow heavy. When the sun rose and the world awoke, Sherlock took the potion and swallowed the bitter liquid and it was as if a sword cut through his body, just like Irene had promised. The pain did not subside but he saw that he had two well-shaped, strong legs and he could walk around.

Sherlock was naked, however, and quickly stole into the hospital to find something to wear. When he was fully clothed he turned around to find John standing in the middle of the room—eyes wide, mouth open.

"Sh-Sherlock…" he whispered in awe, taking a step closer to him. "Oh, how I missed you!"

Sherlock smiled, trying to ignore the pain that still took hold of his legs and walked closer to John. "I am glad to finally see you again," he admitted, taking in the beauty of the young man before him.

They started talking about this and that, and finally John decided to give Sherlock a bed at his place so he could stay there, all the while wondering where his fish tail had gone, but never asking. They spent two wonderful weeks together in which Sherlock was happier than he ever had been, although the pain in his legs constantly reminded him of Irene's ultimatum.

One evening on the fifteenth day, John and Sherlock were sat on the shore side by side, looking at the water in front of them.

"I love the sea," John suddenly said, shifting closer to Sherlock. "You come from it, don't you?"

"As a matter of fact, I do," Sherlock answered, his eyes carrying a certain yearning as he looked upon the waves.

"Then why are you now a human?" John wanted to know, blue eyes looking at Sherlock questioningly.

Sherlock sighed, and then he gave an explanation as to what had happened and John looked at him with sadness. "Do you love me best of all?" Sherlock finally asked, his heart beating wildly.

John was quiet at first, silence stretching out between them like an unwelcome guest and then he heaved a sigh. "I do. Sherlock, God help me, I do. But I am to wed Mary, the daughter of the king here, and there is nothing I can do about it."

It was as if Sherlock's heart broke into two and a single tear rolled down his cheek. The pain in his legs increased, and he was reminded that by the morning, he would be sea foam and John would be with someone else.

"But," John continued and placed a tender hand on Sherlock's, "I want you to play the violin at my wedding, for you play so beautifully that I can never get enough of it."

But Sherlock had to refuse, and it broke his heart even more to see John's disappointed look. They parted soon after in silence, each man departing on his own, and John heard Sherlock cry when he walked away.

* * *

That night, Sherlock couldn't sleep and he silently tip-toed to John's room where he gently knocked on the door. John stood beneath its frame, his hair mussed from sleep, and Sherlock remembered the time where he had compared John's every follicle to the grains of the beach. It made him unbearably sad, and it must have shown on his face for John took him into his arms and held him tightly, rocking them from side to side.

"Run away with me," Sherlock pleaded and John held on even tighter and after what seemed to be an eternity, he nodded. He pulled away and looked up at Sherlock, before kneeling down and grasping his hands.

"Sherlock," he said and his voice broke, "this is not legal but I have no other choice. I love you, more than I could ever love somebody else and I owe you my life. Will you marry me?"

And Sherlock whispered "I do" while a tear rolled down his cheek, and his heart felt better and the pain in his legs lessened. John got up and cupped Sherlock's face gently, pressing his lips to Sherlock's mouth and together they stood and held each other—kissing until dawn.

The village was still sleepy when John and Sherlock made their way to the shore where Sherlock went into the water that was shining under the sun and the waves lapped around his legs. The pain suddenly disappeared and a tail appeared where his legs used to be.

Sherlock laughed, laughed so loud and John laughed with him.

Irene's potion had lost its power and Sherlock felt his fingers tingle—finally able to move them again. He reached out for John who took his hand and walked with him into the water. They submerged together and once John's breath was gone, Sherlock kissed him deeply, allowing his fingers to dance over John's chest like they danced over his violin. His tune, which once had healing powers, and his fingers as well in this moment, healed his sandy-haired human and John could breathe.

He smiled, and together they swam down to Baker Kingdom.

They made an unusual pair, one with a tail and one with legs, but Sherlock was happy, just so, so happy, and John was the reason for that. Sherlock could pick up his violin again, now that John was able to mend and he played again—even if there was a ball room of people to entertain, he still only played for John.

And they lived happily ever after, the merman and his human, wed and in love until they both turned to sea foam.


End file.
